To Build a Kingdom
by Kisshulover1
Summary: Nikolas is the son of a Chieftain and is required to attend to certain duties. Such as getting married. However, he is deeply against the idea of marriage unless the suitor proves their worth and love for him. To be sure that he will be wedded to someone who cares for him, he devises six frustrating tasks that must be completed for his hand. And Mathias always loves a challenge.
1. I Have Come From Far Away

**This story was a request from a tumblr follower of mine, **Flo**, who wished for a DenNor story where the two are teenagers and where the theme is "Breaking the Rules". So. The story kind of goes all over the place and the theme isn't too apparent but I tried, so don't kill me! Ahh!** I do not own Hetalia nor it's characters but I do own this story. **This chapters song is **"Klevabergselden" **by** Garmarna. **REVIEW PLEASE! **

…

There is a village, enclosed with tall pines and yellowing aspens from autumns warning breath. Where the wolf howls and whines from outside the great shaven pines that guard the settlement from rabid foe and enemy.

It is a village of tradition and grey-winters, a village of hardening people with beautiful blue eyes. Where one who begs will find a cot by the fire and a bowl of gruel for their trouble, where a lost stranger will be able to find his way again by elders who smoke fine pipes and cast old bone oracles.

It is a village with a slowly dying lineage - of a Chieftains son who will not marry any man nor woman if they do not face and win the six challenges placed before them. It is a village guarded by pride, a pride so stifling that those who wish to be wedded to the throne would be better off dead and buried in the blue frosted earth.

These six challenges are vague and riddled - misleading to the humbled man and daunting to those of the highest intelligence.

If one should fail, they will be shamed forever, their name lost, swallowed by the six challenges that would make crippled and sour men and women out of them all.

For these challenge were not passed down by generation - but were created from the vacant and yet deepened mind of the Chieftains son, Nikolas. The young Lord had devised such feats to weed out the weak, strangle the deceitful, and drown the unfaithful.

These daunting tasks, should a man face to win the hand of Nikolas - son of Egill Sturla, son of the village nestled along the groves of Norway - my how he will be rewarded. Robes of jack rabbits whiter than snow, chains and torc's of melted gold, chairs made from the proud horns of the reindeer, and a bridal bed on which to sleep the harsh winters away will be given to him with gladness.

Yet none had ever succeeded, their desires to hold the warmth of Lord Nikolas were burned to the ground, as was their name and faith in their abilities as noble men and women.

However, on a day when the sky was painted white by a gulls feathers, and the clouds hung low for a child's tongue to taste, Mathias Køhler, came to seek the hand of Nikolas in loyal marriage.

But what he does not know, is that Nikolas is, as it seems, destined by his own doing to never marry. Doing so would break the bleakest and grandest tradition of the village - that none are good enough to join Nikolas with the land, to be ruler along side the beautiful blue eyed boy.

Mathias could not possibly be the one to break the rule of this finely constructed curse. For if he shall…

May the Gods bless his mortal soul.

…

Mathias had heard rumors pertaining to the stubborn Lord who would not wed. It was not gossip that old ladies spun at their hearth to keep hands from becoming idle, it was truth in the best sense. It was also truthful to say that hardly any one had ever impressed the Lord Nikolas enough to even gain entrance into the grand hall to hear the six challenges read from a drab musty old scroll.

Why, it must have been five winters now since the challenges were rang through the air by goat and bull horn - and yet none of the suitors had ever shown their faces again. Some said that those who do not win the feats have their heads cut off in punishment - others say they are quartered with ropes tied to horses, arms and legs ripped clean out of their sockets.

But Mathias did not believe any of that. It was childish talk. The Chieftain Egill, was not so cruel as to kill those who did not make Nikolas' heart flutter. The Lord Egill was a fine leader and, though vicious with his enemies, he was kind and content to his kin folk and tribesmen.

This, however, would come to no good to Mathias' cause - as he was a Dane, in a Norwegians land. He doubted very much that he would be able to use his ties to his kin to be wed to this strange and chilly land where the winter sun glowed orange and where the wolves howled at the twilight of darkness.

But the Dane was strong and able - after his parents caught sick and died so long ago he had been roaming the lands alone, taking boats and rafts over from the soil of the Danes into that of the Norwegians.

He was lonely, as men often get when their only companion was a few gold coins in their pockets and a flee-bitten mare for comfort.

And so, he wished for a marriage.

He had saw Nikolas not so long ago, perhaps a few days in early fall before the frost came and many a-mans crop was lost.

Nikolas was ridding through the dregs of the muddy settlement with his father, the two of them assessing the damage of the bitter rains from that week.

The cabbage plants had drowned, but the barley was still strong. The apples that had fallen were inspected and picked from the ground, the ones that were bruised or holed with worms were given to the fattening sows.

That was when Mathias saw the Lord, picking up an arms worth of apples and pressing them into an old woman's basket.

He had been the most lovely and kind person the Dane had ever seen.

The royal family only stayed for a few nights outside their warm walled settlement, but enough for Mathias, a way warding stranger, to catch a glimpse of the beauty that was Lord Nikolas.

His eyes, like pools of a frozen pond, were so cold and calculating. He had the eyes of a leader, of a Prince or a King. They shone brighter than any stone Mathias would had hoped to pin to his breast, sleeker than the finest hide on a mare, and more stunning that the sharp gasp of the sky in winter, when the darkened trees glowed black against the indigo clouds.

It was in that week that Mathias heard, from the other patrons at the mead stall that he was prowling about in, that Lord Nikolas was in need of a marriage.

The Chieftain, bless his heart, already had excellent ties to the neighboring tribes and had no need to use his sons wedding as a tool to forbid the tidings of war.

However, it would do bad for his proud name to have a son so unattainable, one who was a frigid as a cold brook and who would not marry of his own devices, who could scare a potential suitor just by the glare of his eyes that burned like coals.

He was like a dragon, he was. And not many had even tried to attempt to please him with riches and gold.

But Mathias, curious to see if these rumors were true, bade the barkeep, the drunks, the poets, and the sages to tell him more. More, much more.

It was rumored, he found, through the stories of Nikolas that he picked from his clouded mind laced with mead, that Nikolas was cursed by his own doing in finding a good wife or husband.

He was a sullen maid, the village dubbed him. He was as devout in himself as the incense smelling Christians from the East. He was beautiful yes, a Norwegian of soft corn silk hair and deep sea blue eyes, but he was ultimately unloved. His only comfort came from his little baby brother who was still in swathes and his long furred cat who hissed at any unfamiliar hand.

To Mathias, he sounded like the most lovely of men, however angered, as if by a great spell placed upon him.

Perhaps he himself would be the one to awaken the Lord from such a curse.

But it was told that many men had tried to woo Nikolas' heart, and all had failed. His own father had become saddened and dismayed, his eldest son whom he had hoped to marry to start his own life and family, would not budge in his solemn wrath.

No suitor would please the Lord, and no suitor could be pleased by him in turn.

No woman could deal with his disagreement and no man could compete the final stage of any of his conquests - and the dowry, my the most ridiculous thing one has ever seen!

But Mathias wished to try, he had very little to lose, a poor man he was already. So with the last of his drink downed, he inquired to his new friends, the fee of such an entry to win the Lords heart.

Then, with the last of his coins jingling in his leather pouch, he made his way to the stables to collect his horse and to buy himself a dowry fit for a frigid Norwegian Lord. He only prayed the meager family heirlooms in his saddle bags for the fee would converse just how serious he was to appease Nikolas.

One could only hope.

….

It wasn't long before the Dane found his way to the pine shaven logs of the grand hall - the fence that entertained the great building made from the mortared bodies of sun-struck trolls and reeds of marsh tree. The grasses from late summer had all since turned brown and withered, leaving clumps of dirt picked clean of any seed for spring by the neighboring sparrows and robins. There were rune stones, carved delicately at a stand still near the pens that narrowed to the grand halls doors, and they entreated Mathias to awe and wonder. It was a fine enclosure and an even finer manor. He would love to have shared rule over it with his hoped-to-be beloved.

He urged his horse forward, the old mare's head drooped low as she snorted with chill, eager for a hot mash or a flake of hay. She was bitter about being ridden so hard from the tavern to the hall and wished to show her disapproval to the Dane by being as slow as a pony with a lame leg.

But Mathias urged her and the rest of his animals on, his newly acquired livestock bawling and fidgeting as they ran under the belly of his grey spotted horse.

As required by the dowry, Mathias found himself ushering a nice, however small, herd of black and white sheep. Each animal was more frightened than the last, and their mouths made a great bawling bleat-like noise as they cried.

The sound of his arrival was startling.

Behind his horse he led two bony milk cows with red hides that were speckled white with age, their eyes glassy with sleep as they chewed their cud. Dirty hooves dragged over the muddied ground as they hobbled. They were sore examples of the requirement for the fee of entry, but they would have to do, as they were the only heifers in town. Such a sad lot they were.

He only hoped what he held in his meager possessions would be enough.

Upon pausing before the oaken gates, he met the gleaming faces of two guards, dressed in fur against the cold, with pounded silver helmets over their heads, red and blonde hair peeking through from the leather ear flaps.

Their faces were red with laughter as they gazed at the Dane in his ripped and soiled tunic, messily woven cloak, and ice-soaked boots and wrappings.

They snickered vehemently.

"Come to try your luck at wining the hand of Lord Nikolas, aye?" The shortest one finally spoke, not doing a civil thing to hide his laughter from the Danish suitor.

"I do not need luck gentlemen - I have passion enough." Mathias replied with a forced smile, one that showed just how terrified he was. He was more aware of his status than ever, and it was not a comforting thought.

"Oh, do you now? A passionate lover you may be - but Nikolas will see some fault in you, I am sure. I already see a bought of faults in you myself, boy." The man replied as he chewed at his cheek, his grey eyes looming over the Danish man, making him squirm atop his boney horse.

"He won't even last the second test - very few ever have." The next guard chuckled, spitting a curl of chewed cow hide from his mouth. It landed to the floor in a wet heap.

Before Mathias could reply to the two men in order to save his face from the reddening of shame, the gates creaked forward and a great big heap of a body stepped it's way past the guards.

Each of the helmeted men blinked their eyes back into fixation as they straightened up their bodes against the wood of the barrack, spears jutting high in alert.

Mathias himself grew white as a lamb in May as he looked upon the strangers face.

"Well gentlemen, let him through and he just might beat the odds!" The large man with long twisted hair curled against his chin and ears roared with delight. At his legs three giant hounds lapped at his pace and bared their teeth towards Mathias. There eyes gleamed black as they snarled.

The Dane almost had a near heart attack.

Yet the big man all dressed in fur and linen stumbled with great heft to the Danish man, his efforts and movement nearly shying Mathias' horse as he reigned her into check with a quick pull against her mouth. She whinnied in protest.

_This must be the Chieftain. _Mathias thought with cold realization as he quickly dismounted from his mare and gathered up her lead in his shaking and now frosty hands.

Mathias bowed low to the ground, his tattered cloak dipping into a grey puddle at his feet before he reared up with a startled gaze to greet the Chieftain of the land, Nikolas' father.

"Up boy! Up!" The boisterous leader declared with a huff of a breath as he righted the Dane, Mathias cheeks flaring red from the cold as he smiled, testing the curve of his grin on his lips. Perhaps he should bow once more, just in case.

But, my! How the rumors were true! For such a giant of a man with gnarled features, he was as kind as any kinsman, hugging the Dane to his own warm body that smelled of spiced meat and grained beer. Mathias felt funnily at ease with his hands clasped between that of the man whom he hoped to be his future father-in-law.

"My Great Lord, I come from far away - past the hills and over rivers of ice. I.. I come for your sons hand." Mathias peevishly spoke, feeling for one in his life shy. It was not such a bad experience as it was humbling.

"Well I am glad that you have come! It has been too long since a suitor has dared to show their face - I only hope you finish all six tasks." The Chieftain roared with humor as he promptly had a page boy come and take Mathias' sword from his belt and hold his horses bridle.

Mathias squared his jaw and tried to take on a serous glint in his eyes. He failed miserably.

"I am ready to take up the challenge, yet I wonder why six is the number given?" Mathias spoke into the air as the Chieftain took Mathias unabashedly by his shoulder and led him over a maze of icy puddles that cracked loudly from the weight of the Chieftains heavy boots and weight.

"Aye. My boy is a stubborn one - six tasks, I know not why. But complete them all ad ye' both shall be together. Ah. But, of course, the dowry as well." The King colored his face from embarrassment at such a silly dowry price from his son, for it was quiet ridiculous and timid all the same.

Mathias nodded vigorously, lips curled into a smile as he gestured grandly to his horse and pack.

"Why yes, I have the dowry - my horse is laden with it." His chilled fingers motioned to the great woven baskets hung drooping at each side of his weary horses flanks. The cows behind the tired animal dipped their heads to the iced puddles and licked at the frozen water with idle thirst. The flock of sheep and the ram skidded about frightfully around his horses stiff legs.

The King stroked his long orange beard, combing his thick and pudgy fingers through the coarse hair before he nodded, content with the bounty.

"So you have. Nikolas will be pleased. Come - come into the hall, the cold must be doing your legs and arms an awful wrong." He took up Mathias' shoulder once more in a friendly gesture before the two walked past the great awning of the cedar and pine castle. The grey large dogs trotted behind after the two, licking Mathias' fingers warmly.

This promised to be an easy trial, if he had ever saw one.

…**.**

**So. Yeah. New story. I have all the chapters outlined so I should be update ding it real quick and fast. BUT I WILL WARN YOU. THERE IS BLOOD AHEAD. SEX TOO, BUT BLOOD A WELL. SO. YEAH. UM. COOL. REVIEW PLEASE!**


	2. Upon a Bough, My Love Lies

**Welcome to the Second chapter! I know the last one was a bit iffy and not too good of an opening, but hopefully you will be pleased with the next. As I said before, there will be blood, so those who do not like such stories, you might want to move on. But it's only a little so don't pay too much mind. As I said, this is a gift, so** Flo**, I hope you're enjoying the story so far! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story. This **chapters song is** **"**Antiokia**"** **by** Garmarna.

…

The first thing Mathias did was raise his hands high in greeting as he drew himself into the grand hall.

"Hello, fair Lord! My name is Mathias! I have come to win your ha-"

"Have you the dowry?" Interrupted a stiff and irritable voice. The owner of the scoffing tone was rooted from atop a great wooden throne with reindeer hides draped and dipped to the floor in puddles of fur from the languid arms of his chair. Near the throne two great bodied hunting dogs panted and a long haired cat licked it's paws clean of a mouse's blood.

Mathias instantly recognized the blue draped Norwegian to be none other than Nikolas, Lord of the marshy and rain soaked lands around them. And he was staring right at him.

The Dane could very well do nothing but stutter in the imposing mans presence, drowned by the sight of stoic beauty that raised every hair on the nape of his neck.

"I…" He tried to force his good natured grin upon his face, tried to flash a smile of white teeth that always enticed good fortune his way. But before Mathias could even curl his lips into a flirtatious warm smile to melt Nikolas' own glare, the Norwegian spoke insistently again.

"_Have you the dowry?_" Nikolas huffed a second time, a displeased scowl encroaching upon his pale cold lips._ "_You may not compete against my trials for my hand if you do not have the dowry." He stated almost vehemently before Mathias found his tongue again from the depths of his tightening throat.

"Aye - Aye, I have it. I have it." The Dane woke to life as he reached for his horses bridle, the gnarled leather and metal a nice reassuring weight in his hands. Holding his mare steady with his left hand, with the right he worked quickly to un loop the folds and knots of the parcels bound to his saddle. As the first whale bone button was unlatched from a bolt of cloth, the head of a bawling lamb greeted the smoky stale air of the hall. Then, with a great heave, the guards themselves pushed and herded, swore and kicked a great flock of sheep forward onto the dirt and stone floor of the structure. The throng of dirty and soiled sheep skidded into the midst of the Chieftains lodge, all of them bawling and pissing themselves yellow from fright.

"A flock of ewe's, a ram, and a lamb." Mathias smiled as he held up the little curly haired lamb for Nikolas to see. The baby opened it's mouth to cry for her mother, her pink tongue as bright as a child's blush.

Nikolas sniffed his nose absently.

"And the others?" He pried, ignoring the sheep as they came closer to his and his fathers place at their chairs - his hunting dogs snapped at a pair of ewe's that began to encroached upon the royal sitting area.

Mathias' smile waved ever so slightly as he pulled forth the loose rope to the two cows. Both of the animals crooned lazily before they pressed their giant heads against Mathias' stomach, chewing lazily at his scuffed tunic.

"Two dairy cows, heavy with milk." Mathias patted the two speckled cows atop their coarse forelock. The two girls huffed warm air into the hall with appreciation, batting their eyes softly at the touch.

"And the others?" Nikolas hardly even spared the two large animals another glance as his gaze fell weightily on the Danes again. As if he was a grand and brutish dragon expecting tribute. Honey, pear wine, roasted boar - feed me, feed me, feed me!

Mathias could only do as he was asked, though with a bit of tension in his jaw. He tried his very best to not throw a glare Nikolas' way. It was a hard feat indeed.

However, as commanded by Lord Nikolas, Mathias picked with strong fingers, a second baskets wraps, bringing forth a swath of cloth. It was thick and heavy in his hands with thread as strong as any wool could produce.

"A tapestry of cloth woven by my mothers hands." He unraveled the bolt to show a beautiful scene of the Goddess Idun holding a basket brimming with apples. Nikolas mouth almost twitches a smile in admiration for the fine art.

"And the others?"

Mathias, before he could stop himself, let a small sigh of irritation run past his lips, but he is thankful that the sheep are making such a fuss that Nikolas could not have heard it. At least, he hoped so.

The next gift t be produced is a small cedar box rattling with thin bird bone sewing needles. "I have the needles, and," he paused before slinging a great heavy sword from it's leather scabbard at the side of his horse, "I have the blade, a wedding sword forged by my late father." Mathias twisted the pommel of the sword in his careful hands, watching the light from the great hearth in the middle of the room cast glints of silver about the walls. He smiled triumphantly.

"All these gifts I present to you." Mathias dipped in a crude bow before the young lord, his shawl tail being trampled on by the dirty hooves of a dusted ewe that past by him.

Nikolas sighed with grief, seeing that the dowry had been paid with little to no trouble at all for this young suitor. The Norwegian would now have to resort to breaking this man with his riddles and tasks. Didn't this stranger know that no one could ever possibly win the Norwegians hand? It would be breaking one of the greatest rules in all the land.

Nikolas closed his eyes softly in annoyance before he rose from his seat, catching the quick look of happiness over his fathers old yellowed eyes. The old man of course would be delighted for another suitor, another chance to have his son marry, a chance to retire his throne to a pair of wedded youths all dewy eyed in love.

Nikolas gritted his teeth together, feeling no love for this stranger, hardly even a prick of lust. This cheeky suitor would go down in flames, and he would be the one to light the pyre.

"I accept the dowry," Nikolas practically strangled the words from his throat, "yet keep them in your hands for a few moments longer. You shall need them for your coming tasks, each of which must be finished today while the sun is high." A small smile with malicious intent appeared upon the Norwegian face as he stared down at Mathias.

The Dane straightened himself out and grinned quite victoriously at the man he was sure he could woo as easily as an dog fetches a stick.

"Aye, fair lord - then grant me my first task." He spoke bravely, brashly.

Nikolas frowned with well hidden frustration at this show of audacity. Oh he would give this man the time of his life.

"Good sir, I am hungry. Find me a pinecone and pick for me ten seeds. One I shall eat, the other nine you will keep." He cooed coldly as he watched the Danes face molder with confusion at such a ridiculous task.

Mathias, after pondering the request, simply barked out a quick laugh.

"That is easy! I will be back in less than a minute!" Mathias grinned triumphantly as he was about to turn and carefully step his way back outside. He was sure he passed a great copse of pine trees before he entered the hall. To pick a ripe brown pine cone from the ground would be quite easy.

However, Nikolas' smug voice made him pause in his step.

"Oh sir, have I forgotten a most important matter? I wish not a ripe pine cone, nay. But one milky green will do just fine." Nikolas smiled wickedly, the curve of his lip showing bright white teeth the color of the moon.

Mathias' face fell as he looked back to the tree outside. It was tall and imposing, split and forked into two grand branches with prickly bark that would surely hurt his hands. He would bruise like an apple thrown upon the stoned floor.

However, sure enough, on top of the utmost bow sat a cluster of ripe stony green pinecones. He huffed in annoyance.

"You shall have your seeds." He grumbled, wishing to unfetter his tongue and lash the Lord with his venomous words. If he was to be tested, he would do his tasks with agitation. This Lord did not know who he was challenging. Mathias would not be thwarted by such a ridiculous request!

Mathias turned himself by the heel of his boot and made his way outward from the great warmth of the smoky hall to face the cold onslaught of the spring mist.

Nikolas raised himself, too, from his position and stepped lightly over the lanky bodies of his hounds. He picked his feet carefully as he followed, from a safe distance, the Dane that had titled himself most brawny and stupid.

It was when they reached the muddied path of the outside that the villagers began to gather with amusement, eager for a show.

Mathias turned swiftly to Nikolas with determination in his eyes. With fever, he spoke.

"I may use any part of the dowry to accomplish this task - am I right?"

Nikolas nodded slowly, wrapping himself in his fur wrap and cloak, feeling his pale cheeks bite pink as the winds howled about and around his ears. This Dane would break his neck like a fledgling pushed from it's rocky nest. He was sure of it.

The Dane nodded to his own self, letting those words sink into his thick head before he brought his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle.

In an instant a low whiney was heard and Mathias horse, having broke free from the callous hands of the page boy that held her steady, trotted forward to greet her master with ears perked.

Nikolas' face soured.

"The horse was not apart of the dowry." He hissed, glaring at the flea gray hide of the mare.

Mathias grinned back at the Lords bewildered and angered face and laughed.

"Think of this horse as an early wedding present - from the groom to the groom!" Mathias beamed as he steadied his mount and, collecting his mothers tapestry from around his horses saddle, made his way to the grand pine trees. Nikolas could only huff and curse as he watched.

He stopped the well behaved animal at the foot of the tree, his horses withers barely reaching the beginning groove at the trunks.

By now a crowd, thick with dirty bodies had pressed about the tree and the Dane, placing bets about how the Dane would meet his death - by broken neck, bashed in head, or heart attack from the height. To say it did not make the Danes face grow red with agitation would be an understatement.

But soon, with teeth bared, Mathias had carefully stood up from his horses saddles and, with much effort on his part, steadily stood on top of his horses back.

As he swayed with the breathing of his animal, he carefully took hold of each end of his mothers beautiful tapestry and, though he hated to do it, wrapped the girth of the cloth round the tree. He tugged tight as his first foot heeled itself into the uneven bark of the tree. This was going to be one hell of a climb.

It took him a few minutes to catch his breath and steady his legs, so sore from riding they already were, but soon he had set himself a fine pace. Using both feet wedged and stuck between the split section of the tree, he was able to scale part way atop the grainy bark.

People began to cheer for him, giving loud whoops and shrieks. They exclaimed, _this boy, this boy could be the one to break the spell, break the rules! This boy is it, the new Lord of our land, the husband of the land! _And as Mathias lunged forward with straining arms, using the ripping cloth heave himself up further and further, he believed their chants. He believe he could do this, could achieve this one small task and conquer all the others. So, with a great boyish grin set upon his face that was entirely too haughty, Mathias made to grab at the cluster of pine cones just within his reach. His fingers, scrapped and bruised, wrists popping, brushed against the edges of the bark and then - his pants ripped.

Everyone up heaved in a roar laughter. Nikolas included.

"The boys trousers have ripped! Clean ripped!" Shouted a man with a thin face as his mouth hung low in a grin of delight. His wife next to him clapped her hands in amusement as she pointed at the dangling and now red faced Dane.

Mathias was for once thankful his tunic was long enough to cover his less _desirably_ public parts. He only hoped his bared teeth and glaring eyes was enough to disperse the peals of laughter now chattering around the cold square.

He was wrong.

"Good sir - I hope you own another pair of trousers as I shall hate to see you walk around the village with such a horrendous rip in them!" Nikolas, teeth all sparkling in his smile, tutted with mocking mirth as he watched Mathias try and gather himself.

At the Lords words the Dane gritted his teeth tightly, feeling the tapestry already begin to tear under his weight and strain. He had but little time now before he fell and broke his neck.

"I should hope you like the trousers I am wearing now, lovely Lord, as they shall look quite becoming sprawled on your bedroom floor - your own breeches pooled about your ankles." Mathias flicked his tongue over his oncoming grin.

Nikolas, offend and embarrassed by the Danes comment, stuttered. His mouth opened and closed as his father simply laughed till his face was redder than his beard.

"He does not piss his pants in your presence but stings you like a nettle! What a brave and stupid man!" His father roared with delight. Nikolas turned an icy glare to the older man. His father only laughed harder, like a great big bear delighted with a pot of honey.

However, it wasn't long before Mathias fell to his feet upon the pebbled earth. His arm had painfully swatted the first pinecone, small and under ripe, to the ground. The Dane ignored his ripped pants and cold bared legs in favor of stomping over the muddied earth where his fingers closed upon the thorny pinecone. He then, without a wince from his lips, threw the great nut to the floor where the dirt met the flag stone.

The green flesh bruised and splintered some, the inside a blushing yellow.

Mathias picked it up without a word and began to peel it forth till the chips fell to the floor and his fingers bled from the pricking of the flesh. Drop after drop his blood ran from the tips of his fingers.

Nikolas could only gaze onward with cold eyes, the laughter pressed out of him as if a heavy stone had been laid flat against his chest. He felt like he could not breathe, the feeling of amazement at this man who would strip the seeds away until his fingers were raw and red.

Once he had collected ten oval seeds he, with a small scowl on his face, presented his cupped hand to Nikolas. Mathias' chest heaving up and down as he breathed. Never seeming to cease.

On bended knee he spoke, words never faltering.

"My Lord." He held his head high, cool light glue eyes gazing into Nikolas' own dark ones. Dark from so much distrust and loneliness. Darkened by his own doing.

Nikolas held one hand to his chest, as if having a heartbeat at that exact moment was a nuisance.

His mouth thinned and curved, a small smile, condescending but there just the same appeared.

Slender hands picked from the Danes palm a nut speckled with the deep color of blood.

Without a moments hesitation, the Norwegian popped the under ripe seed into his mouth and chewed slowly, with a purpose. His lips that were once a pale pink from the cold turned a violent red at one corner of his mouth from the Danes blood.

Mathias' eyes could only widened with shock at such a gesture, such a display that meant more that the Danish man would like to think.

"Shall you provide me laughter with your antics and nourish me with your blood?" Nikolas questioned seriously as he swallowed down the blood and fruit of the pinecone. His eyes never blinked as he stared at the Dane whose face turned pale.

Mathias licked his dry lips and took a steady breath to control himself and his words that he desperately wanted to shout to the heavens.

"Aye." He did a quick dip of a bow, knees scraping low to the floor to become plastered with mud. He was cold and hungry and bruised, but he was happy with Nikolas' response to his task. Quite happy indeed.

Nikolas smiled with closed lips, a flutter of eyelashes that betrayed his easement and mirth.

"Good. Then on to the next challenge."

…

**Okay, I know, I know. A pinecone is stupid. But I was walking my dog and I tried to pick one of those fuckers up and get the nuts inside only to have my figner's bleed like a river. Blood is a major theme in this story, so if you don't like it, I'm sorry my lovelies!**

**PLEASE REVIEW! IT WOULD MEAN SO MUCH TO ME!**


	3. Upon a Stretch of Land, My Love Lies

**Wow! Two chapters and already so many reviews! Thank you very much, lovelies! I hope this chapter that I have for you delights you like the last ones! Flo, I hope you are enjoying yourself with this story as well! **I do not own Hetalia, but I do own this story. **Thank you to **Lillens **who has been a wonderful help being my Danish Translator! Thank you so much! This chapters song is "**Storm**" by **Fejd.

…

After being fitted into snug red woolen pants by the tailors son, Mathias was led through icy puddles and dried dead grass by the arms of strangers who he hoped would soon become his kinsmen. They pushed and pulled him heartedly, slapping him on the back and exclaiming that he was a fine lad indeed to defeat the first task.

Nikolas himself, who was walking silently beside his father, did not even speak a word as to where they were taking the Dane. Yet Mathias still saw those cold and supposedly frigid eyes glancing at his own every few seconds. Like a secret game that young children played to those they fancied.

Of course, these shy glances could only prove to make Mathias more nervous. He had a hard time keeping up his boisterous grin upon his face, so flushed in the face was he. Half the time that they were walking up through copse and glen, his livestock being pushed and herded, his sheep leaping and bawling, the Dane was getting ready for Nikolas to suddenly slap his face and call the whole event off.

He could only hope the Gods would soothe and cool that Norwegians temper for a bit longer, until the Dane really could prove himself.

Mathias sighed and allowed himself to be distracted by another woman's voice to laugh about his feats, allowed another boy to cling at the long cloth of his tunic and pull as if the Dane was a rag doll. All he could do to keep himself occupied was to fidget and wring his fingers through his hair, belt, and horses lead ropes. He had not a clue about the next challenge, as Nikolas would still tell him nothing, silent as the wind on a Summer's day.

It was disheartening to say the least.

But soon, with a few more paces of walking over uneven terrain that seemed to get dryer and dryer from the cold upon it, Mathias was stopped in his path by the most ugliest track of land he had ever seen.

It was a meadow - if one could even call it that.

Gnarled hedges of willow raised themselves up like the body and legs of ugly red spiders, their leaves having all fallen off by winters snarling snows. Spiked grass as vengeful as any stinging nettle greeted him with a mocking twirl of it's foil, the slender-like twigs of it as dry as an old woman's hair. Trees thin but tough had made their home upon the thickly compacted ground, their rickety branches like the claws of a raven, ready to snatch out their victims eyes for the pure enjoyment of it. But the rocks, stones as big as a bulls head, seemed to be the most offending thing in the meadow itself. Like ugly severed heads from those of a Troll.

The whole small indent of land was a deep yellowish green from the early morning frost upon the little vegetation, and it was then, by looking at the bile-like color of it, that Mathias realized he wanted to burn the whole acre to ash.

"What work am I to do _here?_"He asked suspiciously as he eyed the poor soiled land clamoring with roots and grass. This gravel was better off to be used as a dumping ground for manure - maybe then the earth would fatten up and be put to some use after some good fertilization. But like this, it looked simply like a wasteland.

Nikolas' face was practically smirking, like a cat that knows a secret to lay a mouse to waste. It was a riddled smile, hidden behind those pearly lips that made Mathias' own heart clench and grow uneasy - and he was not a man to be easily frightened.

But soon the Norwegian stopped the mass of people in their steps. With a great swooping gesture of his hands, he held his palms towards the dry land that seemed untouched by rains for far too long.

"Clear my fathers meadow - trees, shrub, and all. You may have no help but your own possessions." Nikolas smirked with a look that was as close to glee as the Norsemen had probably ever felt. His smile, like the curved sickle of the moon, even served to create an uneasy atmosphere among the gathered townsfolk who looked at the field with worry.

The land, it seemed, would be more of an effort than Mathias could have ever imagined.

"You have two hours. Work fast my suitor." Nikolas whispered like the wind, taking a step back from the beginnings of the land to revel in the glory of Mathias' face, soured and gnawing with contempt.

"He will never finish in time." Whispered one woman at the Danes back, shaking her head and tutting her lips.

"I'd give up if I was him - not many have finished this task with the other meadows. Not with all their strength could they do it." Said another, a wispy young girl who pulled her seal pelt faster about her shoulders to block out the dry wind that bit as viciously as any raging hound.

It was true though, this land was like a big gaping hole ready to swallow him feet first into death. The jaws of mother earth were not as kind as one might have thought.

Not even a whole team of Oxen could cut and gouge a land such as this.

But…

Although he felt the weight of despair hit him like a flint dagger, he hardened his heart and turned back to the outcrop of the villagers who by now seemed to grow quiet in abandonment of him.

Mathias gritted his teeth at their lack of loyalty that a few minutes before was flourishing like a wood sorrels bloom.

"Give me my horse and my flock and cows. I shall have this meadow cleared." He huffed, taking the last remaining tatters of his mothers tapestry in his hands. Sucking an edge of the cloth to his teeth, he pulled and ripped, shredded the olive green cloth into thin strips. Each wrap he then coiled about his palms and fingers, feeling like a damned fool already.

Yet, upon his request, the small boy from before herded Mathias' flock and two tanned milk cows to the meadow where they began to clamor over each other like bumbling twists of fur and hoof and jagged teeth.

Mathias stared at the animals. Long and hard he watched them. Watched the way the ewes were shied by the crook of his legs, the ram galloping to and fro in order to keep his females safe - and the milk cows, sullenly chewing their cud from a good few hours back.

He sighed once more and, bending down at the ground to snap up a rotten tree branch, began to swing it madly.

"_Flyt! _Forsvind, væmmelige bæster! Jeg vil slå jer, hvis I ikke flytter jer!"* Mathias threatened, tapping the edge of the stick to lightly poke at the feet of the sheep, their eyes rolling back to show white as they bolted from his lead into the patch of dried earth. The cows too, though slower with fat and muscle, made their way to tread along the earth, Mathias hitting each cow on her rump to push her forward.

It was not long before, with the careful guidance of his home-made cane, the animals were all tearing madly at the brush and grass.

The cows, with tongues that curled, twisted mouthfuls of the remains of the dry grass, chewing till their mouths were stained green and off-shades of yellow.

The Ewe's with teeth as tough as rock began to gnaw at the bark of saplings, exhume the roots of the shrub, and tear at the nettles that would sting a man raw if he was not careful.

It was not long before every herbivore that the Dane owned to his name was busy making a meal of the scraggly land, leaving Mathias himself to be challenged with more serious matters.

Running back to the warm sides of his horse, Mathias led the mare to the first young tree to present itself, an aspen with wiry branches all bulbous and scarred black and white.

With quick hands that were almost numbed to the bone from the chill around him, Mathias set himself to the task of un-looping the scrawling ropes that laced the back of his horses' hide. As each knot was unfurled, the basket at the animals haunches came closer to tumbling down.

Too short on time to collect and places the wicker right side up, Mathias looped the great flaxen cut of rope over his elbow and palm and tugged at his horses lead. The mare prancing her feet back and forth in excitement.

Nikolas' eyes suddenly seemed to brighten towards the Dane with a knowing look. "Oh my suitor - a fool you are not." He whispered more to himself and Mathias than anyone else.

Mathias himself smiled back, a quick lash of a grin before he began to latched the rope from the bundles of gifts to his horses saddle, around the wooden ridges of the seat. His horse stood with rigid step as she tossed her head back and forth, seeming to feel the great upheaval of energy that the Dane was creating. His body was practically humming with it.

Then, running on strong legs that were now marred and scarred from the bark of the pine tree, Mathias wrapped the length of the ropes around his first tree till the trunk was fettered. Then with a click of his tongue and the tap of a willow switch curbed and sharp, he urged his horse onward away from the tree.

She snorted and breathed a great huff before, licking her mouth in a gesture of barely contained strain, she pulled forth, her muscles tightening.

A great tuff of earth began to splinter and break, crumbling like bread sopped in water as his horses sharp hooves dug themselves into the crisp ground.

The ropes pulled and flaked dust, the saddle making dangerous creaking noises as finally, the tree was dragged with great effort to the far corners of the meadow.

One by one each cedar, aspen, and fir was uprooted from the soil with only a victorious gaping hole left in their wake.

By the time Mathias had wiped his brow of dust and grime and horse sweat, he had just a few moments left to himself to make sure his efforts would not be wasted.

With palms raw and burned from the ropes, he began to pluck and uproot by hand the remaining brush that the sheep did not finish shredding, full belly's fit to bursting as they were.

Nettles stung and bit at his legs. Burs collected themselves at the bottom of his breeches. Switches of willow whipped him badly. But by the time he was satisfied with a job well done, Nikolas clapped his cold and slender hands to create a piercing noise in the field.

Mathias could barely breathe as he watched Nikolas' calculating gaze survey the meadow that was plump and ripe with the bushy bodies of sheep and the thick legs of his horse and cattle.

"Congratulations, you have cleared the meadow in time." Nikolas' voice spoke without a sense of bitterness. Mathias was stunned.

The crowd cheered with disbelief.

But Mathias could barely hear them, his ears humming with Nikolas' words, with the breeze that flittered over him and by the croon of his sheep who bawled.

Nikolas was not smiling, but nor was he throwing a fit like a young colt whose bit was too tight. Nikolas, however deadly his eyes were, seemed to have a hard time curbing in his smile that was peaking at the corner of his lips.

"You really do wish for my hand, Suitor. Do you not?" Nikolas smiled with vague amusement as Mathias walked towards him, sweat matting his wild blond hair to his forehead and ears, eyes of blue shining brighter than a robins egg.

"I do, more than anything." Mathias breathed, filling his lungs in with air that was perfumed with Nikolas' fresh scent of pine and juniper. Of burned altar smoke and thin wine.

"But my Lord, my name is Mathias. Please, call me as such." The Dane smiled cheekily as he bowed once more, ignoring the wince in his back and the ache in his arms.

Nikolas bit his lip in quiet thought and consideration.

"Mathias, shall you clear the land of my fathers so we may look upon it together as fertile and all our own?" His voice was lighter and more dry, as if the words were so foreign to him on his own tongue, as if he had rarely ever said them to anyone.

It was then reminded to Mathias, just how very little had ever made it this far in the Lords laborious tasks.

"Aye." Mathias replied with a cough of a voice as his lungs still burned him like fire. This cold air would be his undoing.

"Good. Then let us get to the rest of the tasks before the night comes upon us and your efforts wasted." Nikolas turned from him to collect the trail of his cloak and robes, his pale face keeping calm as he waded back into the trembling and smiling mass of villagers before him.

Mathias nodded swiftly, ever eager to please, like a great bumbling dog that only knew a lopsided smile.

With dust dried boots he followed the crowd as they clapped him on the back and offered him ladles of warm water and bowls of gruel to keep the chill off him as his body had broken into a cold sweat. Throws of fur from wolves were thrown over his shoulders and a sash like scarf clumped around his neck.

It was only then, by his second sip of water, he watched as Nikolas stopped before a giant hulking mass of metal and wood that was previously hidden by the mass of onlookers.

With delighted mirth and gleam to his eye, the Norwegian turned back to the pasture that was but dirt and stone, the animals having left it dull and cleared.

It was time for the third challenge.

…

**Authors Notes:**

"_Flyt! _Forsvind, væmmelige bæster! Jeg vil slå jer, hvis I ikke flytter jer!"* - Danish Translation that more or less means "Move! Go away, beasties! I will beat you if you do not move you!" Thank you to Lillens for all the help!

…

**WHAT'S HE GONNA' HAVE TO DO THIS TIME? WAIT AND SEE! (I now these challenges are lame, but come on, it's Early-Norse-Era Norway. What do you want from me?! OF COURSE THE CHALLNGES HAVE TO INCLUDE CLEARING MEADOWS! Please **Review**, it would be ever so kind. **


	4. Upon a Clump of Dirt, My Love Lies

**Well Damn! You guys sure do like this story, and I'm terribly happy that you all like the tasks as well. I hope you, **Flo**, are especially happy with this story so far! Well, onward to the fourth chapter! **I do not own Hetalia or it's characters, but I do own this story**. This chapters song is called "**Drew Drusnaar - Idag som igår**" by **Garmarna**. **

**HAPPY NEW YEARS~~~!**

…

Rounded curves and slopes, a hatchet of what used to be honeyed wood that was now brick red with mud flaunted itself before the Dane. A blunt blackened tooth curved and sharp stuck out from the taunt oaken structure to give off a terrible gleam from where it sat like a untamed animal awaiting a gentle hand.

Mathias wished to kick the thing over till it rusted in the dry pitiful dust when the rains enveloped it.

Gazing at the object only caused him to feel his gut sink low in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a wriggling snake - but the creature was bent on escaping through his the bones in his ribcage and the meat of his throat.

A loose fever of sweat broke over his forehead as he thought of the burden-laden work that his hands and arms would soon meet. The Norwegians attentive smirk was not lost upon him.

The object wasn't so much fierce as it was a complete annoyance.

It was a hulking big ugly thing, ugly in it's wear and tear use and age. Metal that looked to be crumbling and wood that looked to be rotten at the pegs. It was terrible and frustratingly basic.

It was a metal plow.

Sunken root first into the thirsty soil it sat, mocking Mathias with everything it had and stood for.

It was not long before the villagers could no longer hold their tongues as they peered at Mathias' soured face. Instead, a great uproar was heard as they clapped hands to their cold cheeks and whispered something awful of the Danes assured downfall. For this was granted to be the Danish mans doom.

It was one thing to fetch a pine cone, to clear a meadow - but to now plow it until his hands bled? It was a disgrace and a scorn! A farmer the Dane should not have to become to win the fair Nikolas' hand! Forcing himself to be humble was not such an easy feat for the Dane, and he would fight it till his very last breath if he had to. It was like asking an alpha wolf to bare his belly to a pup!

"What am I to do? Plow the meadow after I have cleared it?!" Mathias exclaimed with disbelief as Nikolas held out to him a heavy yolk with both of his hands, the dried wood drooping from its smoothed shape. It mocked the Dane silently with its yellowed sweat stained figure.

Mathias sneered angrily at the farmers tools with disgust.

"Sow the land using your old milk cows. Plant the pine seeds that you still have - one for each row. This must be completed in an hour." The Norwegian threw the yolk to the ground unceremoniously and handed the Dane quite merrily a wooden bucket to keep the seeds in. It was a spaciously big pail, much too bothersome to hold just a small handful of seeds. Mathias snatched it from out of Nikolas' hands anyway.

Each villager was tickled with delight and enticed to laugh with giddiness at the poor laborious misfortune of the Danish man. The Gods were not quick to give their luck to this lad, one could easily see!

Mathias huffed with warmed breath but went quickly to work yoking together the hefty beasts and righting them to the beginning of the meadow that was still smelling fresh of cut grass and manure from his sheep.

After the leather had been swamped and tied over the shoulders of each beast, the yolk snug over their necks and plow tied and hung nice and steady, Mathias placed two fingers in his mouth and blew.

The shrillness of the whistle did nothing to budge his two cows, their heads dropping to the floor, breath curdling the dust about their nostrils.

Mathias swore under his breath with a bite of his teeth.

Throwing the oiled reins to the floor, the Dane picked at one of the fallen trees that he had uprooted. With more anger than he should have presented in front of the person he loved, he snagged and ripped off a helplessly thin branch from a pine tree, threading his fingers over the needles until they were plucked off.

Homemade whip in hand, he drew the reins into his teeth and clung onto them like a horse does with a foul iron bit in their mouth. He held his hand tight and strained and cracked the stick along the heifers backs till their tails began to twitch listlessly.

They crooned angrily and heavy-like, the wood of the yolk rubbing easily against their rough hide to leave a messy patch of hair.

On they pulled and dug together as Mathias drew the tip of the stick, lighter now, on their flanks - but still they could not move, could not further their pace.

The plow stayed with its snout buried in the coarse dirt, not having even moved a foot.

The Dane gritted his teeth with livid frustration.

The ground was too dry with dust and rock he deduced with his eyes studying the soil and his hand running up the cheek of his face to feel sweat. Dead moss rolling about in the earth that was the color of ash and ground sandstone, bits of rock as small as your thumb and as big as your fist lodged unpleasantly in the topsoil. No one in their right mind could have ever hoped to clear and row this unseemly patch of dirt.

It was a good thing Mathias was not of a right mind - let alone a sane one.

Though the blunt metal plow could not be excepted to drive through the soil, Mathias would just have to rely on other sources for help. His sheep he could not expect to aid him - his horse was worn and in need of rest. He had little left on his person to achieve the task - but…

With a sigh that betrayed just how annoyed he was at the moment, Mathias threw the leather reins to the ground, his cattle spooking and shying from his hand that still held the switch of wood for which to beat them with.

"What am I to do? The ground is too hard!" He complained with a whine, trying his best to pretend to be defeated - Nikolas, he was certain, would love to wallow in his misery. He might just give a hint or a clue to this riddle in his haste. Mathias was counting on it.

Nikolas shrugged with absentness, his hands coming up to bury themselves in the indigo folds of his robe. He sniffed into the fox fur that lined is neck - the silver hairs curled at his breath.

"Use your wit Mathias, I shall not marry a man as dumb as an ox." He huffed, eyes waning to thin slits as he silently judged the Dane with his glare.

Mathias grinned with a tad bit of anger hiding behind his lips, yet his eyes that shone a fine blue grew brighter. He lazily spat at the ground like a working man would - the land that was so dry eagerly swallowing it up, leaving a blackened patch of wetness.

"What did those before me do?" Gruff words sopped with interest, but Nikolas answered them all the same with a smile so thin it could cut a man to ribbons.

"They prayed for rain and sobbed into the soil." He said pleasantly, causing his kin behind him to laugh a boisterous happy filled sound.

Nikolas' father himself took to the words with just as much amusement, his face churning red for what must have been the sixth time today.

Mathias sneered for real this time, not liking the idea of himself being mocked for so long when he would soon prove his honor. His pride was wearing thin and was bruised all to hell - it could not take another beating.

Yet in his angry mind, an idea graced his thoughts. His mouth curled into a smile as he drew his gaze triumphantly back to the Norwegian whom he wished with all his stubborn heart to marry.

"Did those men receive rain?" He asked quietly, hands coming back to the floor to pick up the reins and set them right in his tight fist. He stood himself by the cows and patted their sweaty flanks - they bawled in contentment, happy that the switch was put away for now.

"Some." Nikolas' eyes were brightening, as if he himself knew a secret that Mathias was catching onto - faster than a wildfire eating a field of dried wheat.

"Did they thank the Gods afterward for sending them the dew and fog?" Mathias prompted, palm coming to collect the small pine seeds from the bucket. He pressed his fingers lovingly over the little oval shaped things in quiet contentment as his other hand squeezed the rope handle of the pail.

Nikolas smiled knowingly. "No."

Mathias nodded softly to Nikolas answer before he grinned nice and brashly, sucking a gust of air into his chilled lungs. The cold air throbbed inside his chest.

Without a seconds hesitation he gulped the nine seeds into his mouth, keeping them on his tongue and cheek, the taste bland and all too horrible. He would bare it.

With enough speed to put a jumping hare to shame, he turned himself back to his team of cows who were heaving slowly with breath, bodies warmed with exertion.

Fingers working stiffly, he threw the bucket to the floor near the first cows leg, the animal shying some, threatening to kick him for good measure.

With hands that were chilled as ice, he apologized to the creature before him as he rubbed down her flank in a sweetened motion.

"Are you a religious man, Nikolas?" Mathias asked as he leaned into the warmth of the animal, cheek rested against her speckled hide. His strong hands came to clutch at her udders crusted with opaque soured milk and cruder things like mud and piss. With tender care and a hum in his mouth, he began to tug and soothe, tug and soothe. It wasn't long before a froth of milk was bubbling up from inside the pail, the liquid shiny and smooth and as chilled and white as the snow on a perfect Yule morn.

"Aye. I am religious." Nikolas murmured, a soft laugh in his voice that he did nothing to contain. This man amused him too much to be real - Mathias, what a cleverly stupid man. Like a jester or a fool - _or a Dane_.

Mathias waited till the bucket was filled to the brim with the sweetened milk before he threw it down with great haste upon the mouth of the plow where it bit into the ground. The white liquid wobbled and sprayed the top soil before, with time, it soaked into the earth, seeping into the dust and turning it a fine rich brown ripe for plowing.

"Then you know one should praise the Gods, not beg them to an end for struggles." He winked gaily as he clicked his tongue and collected the reins back over his neck, his jaw too sore to work them at his teeth. After a few teasing switches of the pine bough, his cattle pulsed forward - the plow digging in and moving some bit by bit.

It was a miracle.

The crowd gasped in disbelief as they watched the boney heifers lug the weight of the metal, their cloven feet as sharp as spades at they moved nicely in neat rows from Mathias' guiding hand . Nikolas only laughed softly, his fingers covering his lips that were bitten pink with cold.

_Oh, this man was growing on him…_

And so the plow moved forward and at every dry patch Mathias wetted it with milk from the cows who were happy to be relieved of their ache in their udders.

It was near a quick amount of time before nine rows were plowed and the small seeds under the Danes tongue each found a place nestled into the ground where they would grow and multiply into a copse of strong pines.

After he had unlocked his cattle from their yolk-like-prison and nudged them by their flanks to be driven off the meadow he had so painstakingly plowed and sowed, he turned back to the person of his grand affections.

With a back that creaked and legs that wobbled stiffly, Mathias presented himself to Lord Nikolas. His battered palms were spread outward in a gesture of solidarity, peppering drops of blood dripping in between his bandaged wrists and fingers.

Nikolas was silent for a moment, eyes tender and yet still cold - like the last of winters ice being melted away by the springs sunny rays.

It seemed to be like love was shining through from his usually stony stare.

Mathias could hardly breathe.

But then a hand was curling against his cheek as he fought the instinct to flinch from pain.

Soft, long fingers brushed themselves against the sweat streaked face of the Dane. A palm rested itself along a patch of wetted earth about Mathias' face.

Then, Nikolas spoke.

"Shall we grow old together and tend love between us as the frailest of saplings?" he whispered, voice misting over the Danes rough lips.

Mathias sighed tenderly and leaned into the touch as if it pained him not to have Nikolas' skin on him.

"Aye." He murmured.

Nikolas gave a soft sweeping nod of understanding. He turned his head from the man before him as he addressed the next task, to which he was sure the Dane would complete with passion and might.

…**.**

**Weeeeell. So, how did you like that? How many you deduced the trick into plowing the soil? Oh you clever readers, you! Please review, my dears, or the Dolphins shall have my head!**


	5. Upon a Stone, My Love Lies

**Welcome to the fifth chapter of this story! I'd like to thank all of you that have reviewed! I mean, holy hell, fifty reviews?! You are all so amazing and I thank each and every one of you! I also hope that Flo is liking the story thus far, as she is the one I made it for! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **This chapters song is called **Älvorna Dansar **by** Fejd.

…

"Kill a troll and bring me their body slain. Place it at my fathers court yard for all to see your victory as a marker for the land that will soon be mine and yours." Nikolas spoke stiffly as he crooked a finger to the left of him, gesturing for a young page boy with silvered hair to bring about something.

_A troll? A troll! _Mathias thought with a sinking feeling in his gut as sweat pricked hot along his back to cool with winds caress.

He was to find and kill such a creature that could grow as big as a house? That could drain a goats blood dry with a snap of its neck for its meal? That could stomp one near to death with one wrong step?!

Mathias felt a shiver wrack under his skin, knowing quite well that Danish Trolls and Norwegian Trolls were entirely different in temperament and abilities.

Where a Danish Troll was kind and stupid and helped lost wanders find their way home for a crust of bread or a sweet, a Norwegian Troll was vicious and stupid and would club a mortal to death for even encroaching upon their territory, bashing their brains in for their pleasure.

This would not end well, not one bit - he could only hope he lacked enough brains to not be worth the trouble of splitting his skull open! The Heavens knew he was told often enough his head was as hollow as a gourd!

Mathias watched hesitantly as he saw a young child soon come back into the clearing with the Danes sword perched above his shoulders, the pommel sticking out with it's metallic color from where the blade rested in its scabbard. It was a heavy item and so the child fumbled awkwardly as his feet fell into place over the upturned soil of the meadow. Once his clumsy little boots pattered over to the Dane, he stood rigid and straight, yet his head was bent back to his chest as if he feared to look Mathias in the eye.

The child, with timid eyes that didn't quite look up from the cold dirt, held out the blade for the Dane. The young lad sniffed.

The Dane felt his nerves being frayed with anxiety at his next task, something he was certain to not like one bit.

Mathias looked to Nikolas with questioning in his eyes, teeth chewing the inside of his cheek as he reached for his fathers sword. Surely the Lord would not send the Dane to his death at the hand of such an infamous brutish creature?

But Nikolas only stared back, vacant and hollow as he looked on.

Mathias growled under his breath bug begged his legs and hands to stop shaking. Doing so would only peg him more as a coward before he even started the damn task.

Once the blade was pulled free from it's leather and wood confinement, the Dane felt the weight rest nicely in his hand, the grip feeling certainly more reassuring than that of a set of plow reins.

Yet Mathias should have known that to have a sword thrust into his hand was already a hint of disaster for this next task. For what should he need his gilded sword for if not to main, slash and kill? Bah! Kill a troll let alone maim it?! It could not be done!

Mathias worried his lip between his teeth till they began to prick with pain from his abuse. But he could no longer help it, his grin was slipping fast from his face and he soon found fumbling hands about him, turning him to stand before a great cavernous body of trees.

The villagers all stepped back from the opening of the copse, and somewhere about them a rock called out shrill and eerie.

The Dane fought his superstitious urge to step back and away from this chilled forest opening where the mist swirled about him like a dead mans breath and where the dead tree branches curved about the breach like deaths arms come to hurry him away.

Fogged dripped from the moss like water, no amount of the suns comforting rays could bleed through the thicket of shrub, rock, and dead vegetation. It was a wicked place where one could not see clearly ahead of them without a lantern or candle - and the Dane was more than positive he was not about to be given a flint and some kindle for his troubles let alone a tallow candle and spark.

"Well, go along then." Nikolas ushered with a bored voice, hands tucked in on themselves to battle the cold. He had forgotten gloves it seemed and the tips of his fingers were already blossoming as pink as an apple flowers bud.

_What?! _He was expected to go into this dense grove alone? Looking for a fearful creature?

"What if I should _die?_"He asked with a crack in his voice that had a few of the Norwegians kinsman laughing with unease.

Nikolas smiled tightly.

"Well. You don't expect me to marry a dead man, do you?" He asked befuddled as his hands came to lead the Danes now slightly rested horse to the opening of the forest.

The mare rolled her eyes till the whites of them shone, the chomping of her teeth against her iron bit insistent.

The Norwegian slid along side Mathias as the Dane was throwing his feet in the saddle, shaking hands grabbing at the reins.

Nikolas smiled softly with little mirth to his lips as he pushed against the small of Mathias' back and sent him and his horse on their way, the animal heaving with strained breath, already much too tired to pick her feet gracefully over the fallen rocks and much too scared to bring her head down low.

Mathias gritted his teeth and urged her on, her flickered hide disappearing into the swampy marsh as his hands worked about her neck giving her enough lead to not pull at her mouth, but enough of a strain so that incase she should spook, he would not fall.

He somewhat believed being thrown from his horse and having his head cave in from the fall would be better than having his bones thrown into a brass cauldron to flavor a Trolls soup.

He sighed out sourly as he kicked his animal more furiously at her sides.

It was fifteen minutes before his mount began to buckle underneath him from skittishness.

She bawled quietly from deep within her throat and had the hardest time sidestepping over sharp edged rocks and intrusive pine boughs that whipped them in the face as they went, leaving shallow red welts about Mathias arms and face.

It was then though, when they reached a fortress of fallen stones, each one raging higher than the next, that his mare would go no further, and so they stood in terrified awe at the natural structures of boulders and rock that seemed to sprout chaotically before them.

The Christians would have called such tables of stone the workings of Satan, where the creatures of the dark hold their trials to damn good and evil men alike. Mathias knew the Christians were not far off in their assumption, as his place was setting his skin to itch and his eyes to widen.

However, he had not yet heard the rustle of an animal, perhaps maybe a blue jay or a water fowl scared from it's hollow. Not even the noise of a troll has pricked his horses ears to flatten.

He would find no troll here - he would already have been dead if they already frequented the area.

This news caused him to feel a sad mixture of relief and frustration at not being able to spot a troll let along try to bag one.

He had failed this task, he had failed it before it even began!

In vexation, Mathias took his sword by its grip and with a vengeful cry, stabbed the blade into the cracks of a nearby hefty boulder. The tip sank it into the body of the rock with a sharp crack, causing a sprig of birds nearby to spray forth from their roosts.

After Mathias took a few moments to pant and suck air back into his quivering lungs, he peered down from atop his horse, the boulder which was covered in red moss. His sword was still singing inside it, shaking slightly.

Mathias quirked his brow and stared harder at the petrified rock, his frazzled brain making out a shape from the bulbous hooks and sanded angles of the stone. He spotted a misshapen foot and the length of what could be called an arm. He found the beak of a nose and the flat plastered form of ears as if the formation before him steadied itself in his mind to become the rock solid form of a downed creature, of a Troll.

He recalled a time in his youth, when he was just a brat pulling at his mothers hair, a tale of how Trolls could die.

It was a sad tale, for the Dane always loved those bumbling, idiotic creatures that were sweeter than a milk cow, but everything eventually dies - and if the Gods themselves could not escape death, then how would a mere giant?

The story was told by his mother to exclaim that Trolls could not - and no one quite knows why - be touched by sunlight.

Direct sunlight, mostly. They could tolerate being outside on most days, when the clouds were low and the sun was blocked by the hills mist.

But if the suns rays were to strike them, they would turn to stone where they stood and topple to the ground, never to breathe again. It was how his people explained hills that were covered in moss and grass, boulders felled and downed by unknown hands and laid to rest in musty soil. River rocks shaved and polished to fit in your palm, but once belonged to the hulking body of a creature too strange and large to ever imagine.

Then, it all dawned upon the Dane.

The red moss that sprung from the cracks and sides of the boulders, the shapes that were sanded and chipped to look like the faces of giants, the shifting and crooning branches of the trees that let in the slightest warmth of the suns red-gold light.

He was in a graveyard. A Troll graveyard.

Smiling with a sudden feeling of glee that overtook him like the fastest of a rivers current, he threw himself down from atop his horse and went to work unlatching any amount of rope, leather, or cloth he could find.

After ripping the neat sewing of stitches on the cloth saddle packs at either side of his horse, he hurriedly began to wrap a sturdy length of rope round the width of the boulder that had his sword stuck deep inside.

With the cloth and rope wrapped as securely as he could make it, he heaved up the boulder, using a broken stick to jam itself under the belly of the stone to wedge it free.

Once it was dug out and lay shining with flaking red moss, the Dane whooped with a fever of joy as he smacked his horse along her rump, the mare skidding and throwing her head down to pull the heavy some burden behind her.

Urging the dappled grey with the click of his tongue, he helped to push the great stone through the path to the opening of the forest where Nikolas and the villagers waited.

After a tiresome amount of time, fraught with lifting, pushing, and swearing - the Dane made it to the sunny gap of the forest from where he was first swallowed inside the cavern of trees and rock.

"He's done it! He's done it!" Shouted a man, running forward to the Dane to assist him in lugging the giant stone into the sunlight once more.

A few other well and able bodied clansmen rushed to the wearied Danes aid, throwing arms about the rock to grate it forward for the Lord Nikolas to spy upon.

"A troll slain! Body turned to stone from the sun, the blood to moss!" Shouted a decrepit old woman who waved a cane near Mathias' head as he approached the thick mass of onlookers.

The Dane, barely missing the throw of her cane at his head for the third time, sighed in relief as Nikolas wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulder gently, smiling down upon her as he lead her to peer at the dead body of the creature, the elderly crone smiling with toothy delight at the blade that glinted in the sun.

Once the throng of men and women were out of the way, and instead were flaking off the budding red moss from the stone to keep as tokens of good luck, Nikolas found Mathias and stood before him. The smile that greeted the Dane was payment enough for his struggles.

"I have slain your troll." Mathias declared as he motioned to the men that now stood atop the boulder, kicking it with childish delight.

"So you did." Nikolas hummed softly. "I had no idea my husband to be would show himself a clever warrior." His lips curved into a generous grin as he took the bridle of Mathias' horse, the mare huffing against his indigo robes with interest.

The Dane, an unswayable smile perched upon his lips, watched as Nikolas began to walk along the steepness of a hill flanked with sturdy trees and axe fallen tree stumps.

A bought of aspens whispered along the shaggy cropped hill, the golden yellow of their leaves able to be spotted for miles away.

Mathias sighed and rubbed his tender and sore hands together.

_How troublesome could a few golden saplings be? _He thought as he followed his lord up the clumped dirt and to the next task.

…

**Mathias, you should know by now that trusting trees is not the best thing to do. I wouldn't be surprised if he vehemently hates trees now, haha. I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER! How many of you guys knew about the trolls? Any guesses for the next task? PLEASE REVIEW! IT WOULD DELIGHT ME GREATLY!**


	6. Upon a Leaf, My Love Lies

**Welcome to this chapter of "To Build a Kingdom"! I hope you enjoyed the last, and I hope you will be tickled faint by this next task that our young Mathias must overcome! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story. **This Chapters song is **Styvmodern** by **Garmarna**. **

…

"Two more challenges my Lord, and you shall have my hand." Nikolas smiled towards the Dane, pink lips pulling back to show his sharp canines that gleamed brighter than any fleck of ice upon the sullen ground.

Nikolas could not pretend for one moment longer that he was not genuinely pleased that this man had made it so far with so little damage to his soul. The young man before him had reaped a great deal of courage from within his heart to present it with a skill that Nikolas underestimated in the suitor. He had come out of this whole ordeal practically unscathed, and still impatient to please.

That was to say, however, that his body was in a less than forgiving situation.

Oh, his skin was surely broken in a majority of places. Gashes where rivers of blood ran through and where the soil of the Danes flesh was as purple as a quails breast. But he was still standing - still hobbling - with an eagerness that only enchanted someone as brave and as stupid as the man before the Norwegian Lord.

Stupid, Nikolas concluded, never looked so appetizing.

"And what is the challenge at hand here, my Lord?" Mathias asked as he cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck, the twang of salty skin flaking mud and dirt as if his own hide itched him near to death. The Dane looked to the clump of trees with a shift in his eyes, already despising the scraggly bulbous saplings that barely reached to the best of his breast, and even then, most of them only sprouted to his scuffed and bloodied calves.

If he was to climb these sparse twigs, it would be the easiest of all the ridiculous tasks that had been left behind him in triumph. He could only hope Nikolas would be so kind.

The Norwegian, as if awoken from a luxurious sleep, cleared his throat till his voice was as smooth as fresh churned butter still yellowed with fat in the pail. He hummed once in thought, index finger pressed in concentration to his thinly tight lips before the spark in his eyes was relit with the burning of mirth and mischief.

With a great sweeping motion of his pale and cold chaffed hands, he addressed with a glare to the few yellowing aspen sapling before him. They swayed slightly in the unforgiving breeze, making a sound that brought ones thought to the color of _gold_. They were beautiful to the eye, but in that moment, Mathias only found coldness for them.

"I fancy the leaves a red - yellow is too jarring a color. Paint these crimson for me as fast as you can." It was a simple request, one that left those pink lips curled into a smile that Mathias knew was fake, for how could one as fair as his beloved smile upon the Danes misfortune? Misfortune that Nikolas brought down upon his suitors own head like an axe ready to cleave his body in two.

He could not help the grin on his face from falling as he stared down upon the shaking leaves of the small saplings - the glaring yellow mocking him. Bating him. Taunting him.

The Dane knew what Nikolas was asking of him, and the golden haired brute found that this request would test his resolve more than the ones before him.

This task brought the need for unrelenting pain at his own hands.

"How… How is he to do that? Paint the leaves _red_?" Nikolas' father spoke into the crisp air, the older mans red tinted fingers pulled at the curls in his beard as if it bettered him to think.

It appeared that a majority of the villagers cast about the grounds were also pondering the same question. They looked long at hard at the Dane, trying to spy something about him that would aid this task. A bottle of red dye, a helping of ligon, or even a few scrounges of beet root that would add a deep and lovely pigment - yet the Danes hands were empty, and the look upon his face was becoming harder and harder set by the second.

He knew something, something the others did not - and it pained him so.

As if he had his heels kicked to the mud by unknown legs, Mathias was already upon his challenge, mouth toughened into concentration as he grabbed the belt from his pants.

With a flick of itching fingers, he unlatched the metal bite from the leather and pulled it from around his middle with an anger that flashed and huffed from his breath. Once the long strip of goat skin was loose, he pushed back the tunic sleeves of his right arm and wrapped the hide tight around his flexed bicep where the flesh was pulled smooth and taunt.

It was as white as a fishes belly, but not for long.

"Boy - fetch me the small walrus boned box." Mathias bit out the harsh order to the overly-quiet silver haired child nearest to the Norwegian. The little quivering boy nodded with fever as he set to fetch the trinket from the forgotten saddle bags of the Danish Mans horse who had wandered a ways away to eat her empty stomachs fill of grass.

The dear little child scrambled to the horses baggage that hung loosely from it's dirty haunches, the cloth from them sweaty and hot.

After he retrieved the box and presented it to the Dane who had now begun to test the hold of the leather wrapped around his flesh, Mathias grabbed it without care and ripped it open from it's hinges till the metal flew clipped to the earth.

Inside he found seven or so lovely needles, whittled from the bones of birds and fish - all so very fine and almost opaque, so small they were.

He plucked one - the biggest and thickest of them all, and brought it's sharp tip to his skin, causing a deep line of blood to drip thinly from the cut. He stabbed it through, till a great length of it was buried into the meat of his body. He cried out in anguish.

It pained him, as he stabbed at his flesh from under the leather line that drew his skin tight - but it would be worth it all in the end. He had to keep telling himself that, lest he soon stop believing it.

After six or so blows were wedged into the paleness of his body, the Dane, with a huffing suck of air, threw the reddened needle to the floor. The skin about the dribbling holes grew pink and he began to feel the first itching of pain that felt as if he had let a snakes fangs take hold of him. No matter how hard he shook his arm, he could not be rid of the phantom-like venom that wrung through his body with chills.

All the villagers took a shocked breath as they watched this suitor mutilate himself like a mad-man - all except Nikolas who was staring Mathias down, watching his every move like a hawk watches a mouse in the grass from a ways away.

The Dane winced as he brought his thumb and index finger to the gurgled openings now fat and pouring with blood. Though it aggravated him to do any more damage, he squeezed at the wound, causing the blood to smear along his flesh and fall in a shallow puddle before the aspens. As the liquid clotted to the floor and was stubborn enough to not drain itself into the harden soil - Mathias wearily bent down and dipped two fingers full of the red life force that had once been running hot through his veins.

It was almost cold to the touch now - no longer belonging to him, but to the vicious air that would soon turn it into red frost that bloomed so beautifully.

Biting his lip against the burn in his arm, he slowly went about drenching each leaf in blood, till the yellow was barely to be seen - only in small streaks and thin lines or in a varying mixed orange that could please the eye so long as the beholder knew not the substance of beauty that was expertly used.

Blood, such a stunning, painful thing.

Once he was satisfied by his work and his vision was clouded with the sight of red and frighteningly hazier things, he unloosed his belt and stumbled to Nikolas. His breathing took on a worried pace and he could no longer hold himself up. He dropped to his knees, feeling as though he might retch till his throat burned. The wounds at his arm, bigger and deeper than he could have ever liked, oozed velvet and soft. He cupped his palm to the six welts, wincing only slightly as he waited for the nausea to pass.

"The leaves are red now, my Lord." He spat at the ground, clenching his fist tighter until he forced his eyes to see sharp lines and color - not the misty hazy shapes that had swam across his vision.

Nikolas nodded with stiffness, careful not to show any pain in his eyes for the man before him - not yet, it was much to soon for that. Nikolas could coddle his suitor to his breast _after_ all the struggles were put to rest.

"Are you willing to upset nature for me, to change the seasons and to anger the Gods for me?" Nikolas spoke loudly - his voice causing a painful thrum in Mathias' head that caused the Dane great reason to shriek.

Yet he held the last bit of strength to himself, guarding the feeling of it viciously.

"Aye." Mathias nodded slowly, spit curling over his lips.

At his agreement, a few of the villagers rushed towards him with water in ladles to wash the wounds and grant his parched mouth the relief it deserved. After the fourth gulp of water he felt like he could finally stand again, arms and feet still heavy like lead - but he would manage. He had for so long already.

"Good. Then my Lord, you have but one more task." Nikolas murmured, looking over to a clump of poles that stood tall and proud a little ways away from the group of villagers. The forest behind the barren trunks was skeletal and massive - oaks gnarled, pines still green, elms all having lost their green summer foliage.

Mathias sighed in defeat, fearing he would have to climb the massive trunks and bruise his hands - he was only now regaining feeling in his arm again, but the welts still hurt like stinging nettles being poked through his flesh.

It would be too soon if he never saw another tree in his life.

But of course Nikolas would hear none of Mathias' whining, and soon the party was moving upwards.

Upon the sparse thicket stood nine cedar poles, imposingly tall, standing watch over the grand hall of the Lords fortress.

As the Dane looked them up and down, he now understood that the poles themselves were the cut trunks of trees that once stood proud and tall around the other foliage - they had been selected perfectly for their girth - and each one was almost the same in size and height. Upon each was hammered an iron circle where a curl of rope looked to have been tied, the edges of it frayed and torn from use.

The wood had been sanded and groomed to shine brightly - only a few slicks of something sticky and brown clinging to them, soaking into the wood and bruising it a dulled black. Pale white rocks, some thin and some long and curved, littered the floor. The grass all but devoured everything around the poles, leaving only a peeking color of brown and white across the ground.

Mathias looked warily towards the nine tower-like structures, knowing fully well he would not like what was in store for him.

"Now for the last task, suitor." Nikolas spoke with a chilled wisp to his voice, Mathias' brows furrowing as he studied the face of the Lord before him, then the nine poles around them, trying desperately to find the riddle, the secret for this last struggle.

Nine_… _The number _nine_. Mathias knew it was important, knew that number's history well. Enough reading of the runes told him as such.

Nine was the number of the warrior Valkyries that swooped down to take men from the battlefield and to their death.

Nine was the number of worlds that circulated below, above, and around them in the mortal realm of Midgard.

Nine was the number of days Odin the All-Father hung from his ankles from the branches of Yggdrasil to gain all the knowledge of the written runes.

Nine was the number of victims for an appropriate animal sacrifice in the name of the ancestors and Gods….

Nine was a number that swirled along the Danes head and caused his breath to stutter and his throat to close, bile rising from his stomach, churning hot and cold at the same time.

_Nine was the number for the dead. _

Nikolas steadied his eyes, lips pursed in seriousness that entreated the hill to silence from one and all - that caused Mathias' blood to run cold and his fingers to spasm and his head to become dizzy.

"Mathias, suitor to the Sturla clan, Let us hope the Gods give you easement for your coming pain."

The last task had begun.

…

**WHAT IS HAPPEING? WHAT IS THE LAST TASK? Ehhh I dropped enough hints for you to figure it out. Don't worry though, we still got a bit more chapters to go. BUT YES. HOW Y'ALL LIKING THE BLOOD? I am sorry, I just… I really like blood. REVIEW PLEASE, AND I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR GUESSES FOR THE LAST TASK! **


	7. Upon a Sacrifice, My Love Lies

**Welcome to the seventh chapter of "To Build A Kingdom" where the last task will be revealed! Although this will not be the last chapter to this story, it certainly is exciting to have the last task, ain't it? Here's to hoping Mathias can stomach it! **I do not own Healia but I do own this story. This **chapters song is **Njaalkeme **by **Garmarna**. Now, sit back and enjoy the carnage, because there is a whole lot of blood up ahead. **

***** If you don't like animal deaths, this might not be the chapter for you. **

…

"Present a sacrifice in the name of our coming marriage to the Gods. The _greatest_ sacrifice…" Nikolas' voice was a harsh slew of arrows drawn and poised towards the Danes breast, an impending command of words that once let loose, could prove devastating.

"This will be the last of your trials." His eyes shone bright and bitter, no haze left in them, no mystery, for all was revealed - Mathias would now have to pick up the pieces and fit them into place.

The challenge as a whole was a daunting one that caused Mathias' throat to quiver and shake, becoming dryer than the sands to the far East. He could feel his palms sweat and he knew his back was taunted at an odd angle as he bent himself at the knees to bow in acceptance of the final task set before him.

No mercy would be given, no hints, no clever words from the Norwegian to aid his almost accomplished suitor in this most death-defying task.

Mathias would have to rely on his wits alone, the Gods help him.

Yet as he rose, a shiver coursing down his spine to rest into the soles of his feet that grew more numb with every puddle of rain they stood in, he felt no fear. He had no reason to fail, he had come this far, hadn't he?

Mathias licked his badly chapped lips, eyes never leaving the gaze of the Norwegians.

He could - would, do this. With fire in his gut, ache in his arms, and strength in his thickened skull, he would best this task and become champion of the land, only second to the Norwegian himself in rule. He would live richly in comfort, learn all he could of the customs of his people whom he would help reign over, be kissed lovingly and love in return for the rest of his days and nights. He would be wedded to a most intriguing, beautiful, and clever man. Mathias would like nothing more.

Let this Lord be blessed with a Danish husband who could give him the love he deserved, no matter how insurable it might seem to be. Let this Lord be gifted with one so willing to go through blood, toil, and sweat, all for the sake of a chance. Let this Lord feel the dip in his softly cushioned bed. Let this Lord feel the touch of worked hands so rough but so careful and soft. Let this Lord be loved like he has never been loved by no man nor woman before.

Mathias closed his eyes in quiet pleasure, in quiet prayer.

"Aye." He whispered with a stretch of a smile anew.

Nikolas smiled back, a grin that swallowed his entire being whole - the grin of a wolf who had just spotted a limping Elk on it's last gulp of air.

_Pray, Suitor, Pray…_

…

Mud, wet and thick fell upon the Danish mans back legs as he ran.

The villagers watched as the young suitor made his mad dash from the misty hills to the hay soaked ground of the village. Dirt slopped and kicked all about him in a frenzy of filth. The herd of his sheep bawled their heads off, wool turned yellow as frightful piss dribbled down their legs to pool at their cloven feet. They shied away from his burst of speed, and yet he did not halt his pace all the way down the hill till he reached the first house, built strong of mortar, pine, and switches. His shouts were ravenous, his pleads deploring, and his manner most certainly not meek.

Everyone watched as he flung his arms, sore and red, against cedar doors. He made a mad show of hitting against the mud bricks of clay and mortar, against wooden beams and elk hide tarps till even the crows flew away from him, fearful of his frothing.

And to whom should have opened the door? Why, a mad fright they must have found!

Yet the Dane, frazzled and most convincing, asked the inhabitants of the house for a bit of their time to hear his words, to listen to his cries and his needs.

He bided them to give, to grant him an offering, an animal of the male sex - old or young it did not matter. What did, however, please his need was that if killed by the blade of a knife it would bleed a river of blood. The hot red blood was the most important part.

After his pleads, the villagers from atop the hill watched with a busied hum like that of bees, as Mathias was given, from the arms of a most frazzled peasant woman, a black feathered rooster that shook and pecked frightfully at the Dane's head.

Nikolas himself watched as his suitor then clamored back up to the hill, breathing sharp and uneven, lungs undoubtedly paining him.

Yet, with the first animal in his possession, he called gleefully for the young lad near Nikolas' robes to bring forth the Danes family sword and the entanglement of rope from his horses leads and bounds.

As the boy ran loping down the hill to retrieve the sword from where it was slung inside the leather scabbard near the Dappled animals haunches, Mathias set to work with his first sacrifice.

There were many more to collect, of course, as this meager yet beautiful bird would hardy do all on its own. He knew by the time he was done with his hasty work, the bodies of nine individuals would be bleeding from the poles set before him, all stank and wet and festered. But as he laid the crowing roosters body under his knees, the wings smacking against the mud to slow the flap and curl of them, Mathias found that the Gods were indeed smiling at his immediate success.

It was not long before his thumbs felt for the animals neck, and a bending pressure from his fingers was administered. After a few quiet murmurs from his lips, the animal finally lay silent. Its neck was wilted like a broken wheat stalk, and it pleased the villagers to no end to see it limp.

Heaving up the carcass of the bird, he took the flaxen rope from the now approaching child and set about to tying the birds feet together, knotted and tight till even the drying and shrinking of the skin would not squeeze the body from it's bounds.

Then, the animal was slung upwards, it's pear shaped body swinging lightly from it's rope and iron fetters.

No blood was to fall, until Mathias took his time cleaving a few incisions along the fowls breast with the tip of his fathers sword.

The drips were few, but they were there. Enough to cause a line of blood down the pole. It was good enough, Mathias decided with a gleam in his tired eyes.

On and on he went like this for a good time, begging and pleading, and sometimes even humbling himself to sobbing as he urged those in their homes to bless him with animals. Each time he readied his blade to slice the neck of what unlucky beast should befall his hands and desperation.

He promised they would be sacrificed, he promised them that their blood would go to the Gods, he promised them he would repay each and every animal that he removed from their stables, their barns, their homes.

They could hardly refuse him, a stranger who begged upon hands and knees like a man about to die. They had rules, codes, customs to uphold. Should a strange come upon their threshold needing nourishment or means which they could provide? They most certainly obliged.

Some, however, were a bit more reserved, a bit more cautious in their blessed giving.

A few of them spat at him and snarled, yet gave in anyway with a boar too skinny to be worth much or a snake with a long and thickened tail caught under the floorboards of the grain house. Some threatened to stomp upon his hands, but with time, relinquished the families male house cat, too senile to be any good as a mouse catcher.

After each animal he was given, he returned back to the meadow to dedicate his prize.

He used the tangled rope wrapped around his arm to lead the ram from his own flock to the base of the tree where the blood from his palms coated it's yellowed wool orange. With the help of a villager, Mathias slit the bigger animals throat and tied it by it's feet to hang on the tree, to dangle until it was picked clean by ravens and clever dogs, till the bones slipped the knot and the joints became rotten with felled meat.

Next came a scraggily old beggar dog that Mathias soon found looming around the back of the kitchen doors to the palace for scraps. It was a lucky find, and he praised the heavens for the beasts friendly nature, the animals tongue lapping up excitedly at the blood clotting the Danes clothes.

The dog went with a yelp.

He then found a hare that he had to chase down and leap for. After a few minutes his knees were blossomed red and purple from the gravel at the ground, but his hands were triumphant in their grip, as the hind legs of the male creature twitched and jerked about them.

After the rabbit was gutted, the bulk of a great snorting young bull was brought forth. It's horns were held and it's agitation contained just long enough for its throat to be severed, leaving a heady mixture of salted blood to gurgle to the floor for a good long time. Soon though, it too joined the dead.

It was a complicated task to situate the horns outward so that they would not knock about the wood and chaff it, but with Mathias' determination, it was accomplished with speed and little to no struggle. The tongue of the great bull lolled pink and frothy, smelling musky and horrible so that the Dane had to cover his mouth to keep from gagging.

The villagers delighted in the scent of the salty blood.

Nikolas himself looked long at hard at the dead calf, never saying a word. Though as the great pole shook to support the heft of the body, the Norwegians eyes betrayed his satisfaction of the kill.

"I have given a great sacrifice of lives. The Gods will smile upon our union." Mathias suddenly spoke, nursing the rug burns and cuts at his wrists. He wiped his brow, arms and chest bathed in blood until his tunic was sticky - smelling like a butchers apron.

Nikolas, however, seemed mildly offended by the lives hanging from the tree. He bit his lip and arched his brows, steely eyes now fixed vehemently before the Dane.

It was not so much as anger that shined through from his gaze, but challenge.

As if to say, _Come now Suitor, you didn't think it would be this easy, did you?_

"I see only eight lives hanging from this tree. You will need one more male animal to fulfill such and offering." Nikolas spoke thinly, voice growing stern.

Mathias furrowed his brows, eyes shifting to a fro, silently counting the animals perched upon their death rows.

The Norwegian, was undoubtedly right.

There was one pole left, still bare, still not bloodied.

"I have no other animal, I have nothing else that is wounded." Mathias spoke with fever, eyes in a mad panic as he looked to a fro, trying to spot another animal of the male sex, another creature to kill, another beast to sacrifice - yet he saw nothing. Only the worried glances of the villagers graced his vision. There was nothing left to give.

"You have you." Nikolas softly spoke, a whisper that was not meant to console, but to burn. To test and to push and to _burn_.

Mathias' eyes widened at those words, at the challenge in Nikolas' eyes that bite into him like a snakes venom and soon he felt hot, hot and injured, injured and damned, damned and exultant.

He dared not show the quiver of his lips, the whites of his terrified and joyous eyes. He looked down, at his hands, so scabbed and warm, he looked at the last slew of rope in his grip, and he tightened his fists till the fibers slit into his bared palms.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes tight… and allowed the village men to bind him by his feet, hands, and girth. He allowed them to haul him upside down, to hang from the poles with the rest of the corpses.

All around him they ran thick with blood and meat, heavy with flies and mud. It made the Dane himself gag. He was forced to deafly fumble his breaths as he tried to gasp in enough air and not make himself sick from the stench.

The smell laid on top of his tongue like a molding slab of butter, all salty and sour.

He could feel his head become light and numb as he struggled to gain enough air in his flattening lungs. The Dane could hear the blood rushing through his ears and he hated it and he feared it, but still he allowed himself to hang until he felt like he would choke on the weight of his own body. As if boulders were pressed against his chest, as if iron shackles graced his ankles, as if lead filled his lungs thick and cold.

Nikolas soon approached him, all stiff and regal in his step.

All Mathias could do was gasp and gurgle and heave, his arms tightening about the sides of his body from where they were bound. Flies began to descend upon his flesh and cause him to itching. He desperately needed to breathe, to lie down, to pee.

The Norwegian stood before him, his shoulders meeting the tip of the Danes chin, and Mathias could smell him.

He could smell his sweat, his perfumed body scented with pine resin, he could smell his mid morning meal - lamb in a watery broth of onions and wild roots and boiled nettles.

Mathias sighed softy, cheeks flushed red as the blood drained towards his nose and chin.

Nikolas absently ran his thumbs over the bow of the Danes' lips, the breath stuttering from the reddened flesh to warm his fingers pleasantly.

Nikolas hummed.

"Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for our love? For our faith?" Nikolas whispered against the Danes lips, bending forward so that his words caught on the cleft of them.

"Aye." Mathias breathed against those lips that were so soft, so soft and dry.

He wanted them on his, always. He wanted them to be the first thing he touched at night before he took his sleep, and he wanted them to be the first thing he touched when he woke up in the early morn. He wanted them to never part from his own.

Nikolas smiled against the Danes flesh that was bitten raw and red. The flaxen haired Lord kissed his suitor lovingly, slowly, languidly, deeply.

Mathias grinned into the kiss.

And so it was that the Dane, the foreigner in a Norwegians land, was cut down from his fetters and brought into the warmth of the Great Hall to be united to the land, as well as to the reigning Lord.

As the two betrothed men made their way down the misty hill, hands clasped in tenderness, they could not stop their smiling.

…

**Heh. Heh Heh. Blood. Lots of blood. BUT YES. Okay, so the final task is done! Yay! But the story is not over yet, my pretties! We still need the wedding ceremony and the after party - and the consummation of course! So keep a look out for a few more chapters!**

…

*** The nine male animal sacrifice was most often made to Odin, but as I only hinted at him, this sacrifice that Nikolas had Mathias do was most likely dedicated to Freyr or Njord. So. Yeahhhhhhhhh.**


End file.
